


Operation Stormageddon

by Ash_Cassidy97



Series: birthday2015 [1]
Category: James Bond - All Media Types
Genre: BAMF Q, Bond might have a creepy love of cars, Cars, Doctor Who References, Fluff, M/M, Q is a Holmes, Sherlock References, aftermath of Skyfall, but like my version of fluff so slight angst, pens are highly dangerous, so is pasta
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-28
Updated: 2015-01-28
Packaged: 2018-03-09 11:54:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,497
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3248705
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ash_Cassidy97/pseuds/Ash_Cassidy97
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Q makes it his mission to get Bond to smile. He promptly entitles the mission "Operation Stormageddon", because this is Q. And Q's way of flirting is through technology.</p><p>AKA, I wanted Q awkwardly flirting with Bond, and not realizing it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Operation Stormageddon

**Author's Note:**

  * For [morbidcassanova](https://archiveofourown.org/users/morbidcassanova/gifts).



 

 

Bond's eyes were cold. He never apologized for not returning ANY equipment the Q branch had spent countless of hours developing. I mean he had a very well thought out fake smile that even M seemed to buy. Personally, I think it helped that his eyes were a bright crystal blue. They sparkled even in the most dire situations. The point is that today is the anniversary of the ex-M's death. James hasn't smiled for a year. Well, I only knew him for a year and it was uncertain to me whether he had ever smiled. Especially over a bitch that had manipulated him to the point where he tried to commit suicide via mission. Not that I didn't like M. She was just a cold hearted bitch.

 

Personally, I never knew M. I owed her my life, but she was always my savior, not my friend. I wasn't in jail or captured by criminals the first time we met. I was just on my way to becoming a mastermind overlord of pure evil. What? Nerds rule the world, darling, we just let you live that little fantasy. M convinced me with a gun (I might have refused if I had known she was a bad shot. Too soon?) that working for the black knights would go better than me ending up in a body bag. I do not casually go grocery shopping after that encounter. Tasers should be taken everywhere.

 

So my goal today was to get James Bond to smile at least once. I consider my long very long term goal: Operation Stormageddon. It had the wonderful factor of appearing to be a military operation and yet, it came from cute babies. I made a mental note to never reveal where this name came from.

 

So the first step in Operation Stormageddon was to make exploding pens. Bond would be pleased. Hopefully. Now, how much C4 is needed and how much is too much? With Bond, nothing is too much. I gave an evil grin and got out a couple pieces of graph paper.

 

* * *

 

A couple hours later, I called Bond up to the Q branch. Like a good soldier, James Bond was here. (Like a good neighbor statefarm is there).

 

"Q?"

 

"Agent 007, I have new equipment for you to field test. M has decided that subtle has advantages. Personally, I do not know why we keep wasting precious technology on you, but I swear if you do not manage to keep a hold of these then I will send you out armed with non-exploding uncooked pasta, Clear?" I said it firmly, handing him a metal box holding nine multi-color pens.

 

"How do they work, Q?"

 

"Click three times. The metal case will prevent them from clicking, so I suggest you leave them in there for now. The red are deadly. They will create an explosion up to ten feet. The blue send a stress signal. The purple give off sonar that will appear on my screen and my screen only. Questions?"

 

"How is a ten foot explosion subtle?"

 

"Bond. My computer has a very encrypted archive of your past operations, do you really want to go there?"

 

"Q." Bond said formally, taking the pens and leaving. Operation Stormageddon was a go.

 

* * *

 

Bond returned the pens that did not explode after his mission. He had not even been to medical. I wanted to give him a gold star, well, except for the medical thing. He left just as quickly as he had came. I ignored him, sipping my coffee(bad missions called for coffee). The best way to teach shy(why yes, I am describing  Bond as a shy person, ha ha) people that they can be loud is to just be there.

 

His eyes looked less dead. I decidedly put this in the win category.

 

* * *

 

The next thing was more difficult to acquire. Bond had lost one of his first loves with Skyfall, his car. Well, the car wasn’t difficult to acquire(Aston Martin DBS V12), obtaining the upgrades was.

 

The outside was subtle grey. 95% of it was weaponized. The lights have hidden explosive missiles. There was a set of knives on each door hidden behind a fake, inch thin wall. There were guns strapped to the underside of every seat. The driver and shotgun seats were ejector seats. The wheals were bullet proof(along with every piece of the car, but the side mirror and window wipers) and could eject spikes to puncture follower’s wheels. The entire thing was rigged to explode if Bond wanted to blow something up(when doesn’t he?). It was also programmed to only open for Bond, along with a whole slew of safety features.

 

I did not sigh when I turned the keys over to Bond as he left for his next mission. He blinked at me.

 

“Try to make it last through the mission. I will not give you another one.”  I wouldn’t either, because Bond would definitely explode that one too. My caring does not get me out of writing up why I’d given MI6’s most volatile agent two wonderful cars.

 

Bond just quirked his face at me and left. He deliberately screeched the tires as he drove off. I have it in good authority(I’ve read the report) that Bond deliberately scored a 60% on his driving test every single time M made him take it(10 times).

 

I only smirked at his antics. I have two older brothers, one that we joke is The British Government, and the other made pissing people off his job. Bond has never done anything to make me regret my life choice of becoming the Quartermaster. Bond’s level of competence is oddly attractive. I blinked. Shit.

 

* * *

 

I kept my head down for the next couple days, monitoring Bond’s mission with a minimum amount of snark.

 

Bond is attractive, I repeated to myself. Bond is also technically my subordinate, drunkard, violitale, womanizing agent. I groaned, slamming my head into Moneypenny’s office wall. My feet had taken me exactly to where I needed to be.

 

“That’s going to hurt later”, Moneypenny said.

 

“I’ve become one of Bond’s girls. I can’t become one of Bond’s girls. I just wanted to see him smile”, I whined.

 

“So, everybody wants to have sex with Bond. I’d send you to medical if you didn’t.” She was unamused at my whining.

 

“No, I want to see him smile. I want to bring him bloody tea and kiss him in the morning.”

 

“So, ask him out.” I kind of hate Moneypenny for being sensible.

 

“Can’t you just let me mourn my loss of sanity?”, I asked pleadingly.

 

“No.” She continued filling out the mountain of paperwork on her desk.

 

“So what do I do?”

 

“Ask him out on a date. Now go away, I have to justify why more pen knives, even though he got twenty with the last order.”

 

I went.

 

* * *

 

I swallowed as Bond walked into the Q Branch. He’d blown up the car half way through the mission as I’d known he would. There wasn’t anything else but to do it. I’ve been told I’m smart. Smart people are smart, because they’ve been time figuring themselves out, and I knew that I don’t want to make other people smile the way I wanted to do with Bond.

 

“Bond, could I have a quick word in my office?”, I asked. This was the scary part.

 

He shut the door behind him. “Q?”

 

“Would you like to go on a date tonight?” I barely contained my stutter.

 

“Why me?” He sounded curious.

 

“Because you’re funny, bright and not an idiot, even if you pretend to be one. You don’t treat me like some little kid.” That was all true. Bond and I had developed a repertoire over the comms in the last few months. He wouldn’t let anybody else handle him if I was available.

 

“I’m going to have sex on mission. I might have or catch STDs or get injured or die.”

 

“I know. Missions are mission. I’m going to flirt on comms with other people to pass the time and talk dirty to computers on a regular basis.” I didn’t care about the other women. Bond is a sexual creature that has to lure people in for information. “We’re both going to get tested before anything sexual. Other than that, I don’t care, Bond.”

 

“Well then, I heard that the Imitation Game is still playing at the cinema. Pick you up at seven.” James smiled at me.

 

Maybe, it will fail and crash and die in a million flames, but we’re professionals. I could kill a man with a piece of paper. Bond knows the five different exists out of my office and the real real (not the ten different safehouses or the location I gave to MI6) place I live. But I had a feeling that it would be one hell of a ride.

 

Afterall, Bond doesn’t smile for just anything.

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> I know nothing about cars. I do know all the ways to make a pen into a weapon or what you need to use it as a crossbow. The pasta thing is completely true. It might have been tested. I’m sorry if the style seems to have changed halfway through or if the ending seems a little rushed (I had deadlines, homework, and a year off writing this to work through).


End file.
